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Sonnets
are safer, when passions arise,
Igniting fires of truth in our heart,
Form takes control and, then, leaves us its
prize,
Rendering our love its very own art.
Deep poets wander the woods of their mind
Along unknown paths of unhappy thought;
Our written words would not be so inclined,
Satisfied in what need never be sought.
If I hold your hand and lead you away
To my own world I will take you each time--
Should it, then, get dark on roads gone astray,
You could return by the light of this rhyme.
Confusion and pain are others' close friend,
Romantic verse wins your love in the end.
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